


Hope It Isn't Showing

by mickian



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickian/pseuds/mickian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set the night Ian sleeps at Mickey's place in 3x06.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope It Isn't Showing

**Author's Note:**

> (Standard disclaimer that I do not own any of the characters; I simply scribble for fun.)

Ian doesn’t need it spelled out for him to know that Mickey doesn't like to cuddle.  
  
Mickey barely likes kissing when they’re horny – or allows it, Ian’s started to think of it as, considering how into it Mickey has seemed the times they’ve done it lately (as if their lips touching during a handjob is somehow gayer or more intimate than him putting his dick in Mickey’s ass) – so the fact that they’re not falling asleep intertwined doesn’t feel like a let down.   
  
Ian’s next to him in bed, and that alone is nothing but a moment to treasure.   
  
Mickey’s asleep since long, smoked a cigarette and passed out after round three, one arm stuck under the pillow and facing towards the wall, away from Ian. Ian knows he likes to sleep on that side; even though it’s a small onesize bed Mickey had called it ‘his side’ after the first time they’d fucked, both of them still too-surprised and staring at the ceiling to really give it any thought that Mickey Milkovich was talking about sleeping habits in his bed.   
  
The lamp on Mickey’s nightstand is the only light in the room and Ian watches his back as it raises slow and steady with each relaxed breath, chuckling as Mickey lets out a loud snore. He never has given Ian the impression he’s the perfect picture of sophisticated grace.   
  
Ian smiles to himself, and there’s no magic moment, no Mickey subconsciously turning around and scooting in closer in his sleep, no sign of him being more affectionate when he’s dreaming and nothing from the real world can touch him, but it doesn’t matter.   
  
Mickey doesn’t need to spell things out for him. Ian’s allowed to be here, right? It’s more than enough.   
  
He shifts, turning to his side to prop himself up on an elbow and lift his hand, looking at Mickey’s neck. He reaches out slowly, carding his fingers as carefully as he can through the short hair at his nape, fingers following the way the strands of hair shape in different directions. Ian bites his lip not to laugh for no other reason than the giddy feeling in his chest when he sees the tuft of hair sticking up where he had grabbed it earlier while fucking Mickey from behind.   
  
'I'm no one's bitch', Mickey says about being the way he is with Ian with anyone else – but here he is, sleeping in the same bed with him after getting fucked in the ass. It doesn't matter if Mickey will never say anything out loud. Ian knows; he likes to think it has nothing to do with Mickey thinking Ian's weaker than any of the other guys he's been with, it's not that he's taking for granted that he could take Ian down no matter what.   
  
He just knows he’ll never have to. Ian would never do anything to hurt him like that.   
  
Mickey’s breathing shifts and Ian’s hand freezes, but no snide comment comes, Mickey doesn’t twist his head to glare at him to ask what the fuck he’s doing. So Ian moves his hand again, through the hair, touching Mickey’s soft skin at his neck. He likes to kiss him right there, mouth at his neck while he’s fucking him – not much Mickey can, or seem to want to, do to make him stop while they’re both moaning and close, so Ian can bite and kiss up Mickey’s neck and down his shoulder, smell his hair and allow himself to really have him.   
  
He’d thought he might not want to…  _smell him_ , really, the first times they’d fucked. Kash had been a respectable – or not so very maybe, considering he had a teenage gay lover on the side of his marriage and was too chicken-shit to stand up for himself in any situation – husband and father who always combed his newly washed hair and straightened his shirt. He didn’t smell much of anything, really, only soap and his too strong cologne Ian didn’t like that much anyway.   
  
Simply looking at Mickey, one could easily think he hasn’t showered in a week – sometimes he stops shaving because he doesn’t give a shit, and his socks clearly aren’t being washed as often as they should. Ian doesn’t consider himself that picky, he knows what it's like to live in a home where hot water isn’t always guaranteed, but the thought of smelling dried sweat or  _ew_ , going down on anyone who hadn’t at least showered the same week, wasn’t too big of a turn on, before Ian knew for sure.   
  
But Ian knows now – and Mickey doesn’t. He doesn’t smell bad. A lot like smoke, a bit of the same smell Mandy has, the distinct scent of home every group of people living together have, and something more, something… special.   
  
Something like nothing else; like Mickey alone.   
  
Ian leans forward and noses at his neck, inhaling the scent of him before pressing a careful kiss to his neck. There’s no way Mickey’s still sleeping, Ian knows, but he’s still quiet and allows him, so Ian doesn’t say anything either. Simply lies down next to him again, their shoulders touching, pressed together and the back of Ian’s hand resting on Mickey’s back.   
  
Mickey stays where he is, doesn’t shift away from him, and Ian listens as Mickey’s breathing slowly evens out again, his body relaxing next to him as he falls asleep, and smiles at the ceiling.   
  
There are so many things Mickey doesn’t have to spell out for him to know.


End file.
